


Genealogy

by faithinthepoor



Category: Murder in Suburbia (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-09
Updated: 2013-01-09
Packaged: 2017-11-24 06:45:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/631579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithinthepoor/pseuds/faithinthepoor





	1. Chapter 1

Standing here now it’s hard not to think that she should have done something to stop things getting as far as they did even if such rumination isn’t exactly helpful. Despite the futility of her behaviour she can’t stop herself from replaying certain events in her mind, analysing expressions and gestures for nuances that she may have missed, and wondering what she could have done differently. The situation was complicated, she had feared that tipping her hand too soon might have resulted in disastrous repercussions and so she had bided her time. She had been waiting for the moment that things reached critical mass, the time when action was no more dangerous than inaction, when inertia could be overridden for the greater good but somehow she missed her window of opportunity. She berates herself for letting this happen but she still remains uncertain of when it was that she should have acted – what she does know is that it was sometime between admitting to herself that she loved Scribbs and finding herself raising her glass in a hollow toast at Scribbs’ rehearsal dinner.

It’s hard for her to take her eyes off Scribbs, that’s not exactly a new problem for her but tonight Scribbs is positively radiant. Scribbs is going to make such a beautiful bride and Ash is not sure how she is going to get through this. She tries to break it down to simple steps, she tells herself that she survived the hen’s night and that she can get through tonight and tomorrow in the same fashion - by not drinking lest she says something she’ll regret and by not thinking about the fact that she is losing the love of her life. 

She knows that it’s unlikely that she would be able to give Scribbs the wedding of her dreams. It’s more than unlikely, it would be have been impossible given her feelings about weddings and her thoughts about Scribbs’ song choices - nothing that she is involved in the planning of is ever going to include Teenage Kicks. She also knows that in many ways the wedding is merely a symbol, there are so many areas in which she wouldn’t be able to give Scribbs what she wanted, so many ways in which Scribbs is completely alien to her but there is still a huge part of her that thinks that there is something special between them and that maybe it would have been enough to counteract their differences. She fell in love with Scribbs against the odds and she would like to think that that counts for something.

Ash accepts the wine glass that her cousin offers, having surreptitiously discarded of her previous untouched drink, and decides that she needs to find a space where she can have a moment to herself. She heads out towards the garden but learns that any plans of a moment of idyllic tranquillity where apparently far too grandiose. Perhaps she is being punished for attempting to escape the room in which she has to watch Scribbs seal both their fates because there is nothing else that she has done recently to deserve having to stumble upon her parents in full fight mode. True to form they quickly regain composure, sweeping their argument under the carpet with ease born of decades of practise. She is also skilled in this area and in a she’s way complicit in their attempts at avoidance; she automatically averts her eyes so that she doesn’t have to acknowledge their reddened faces or the anger emanating from their eyes.

Her mother walks towards her and pats her on the cheek, “At least you aren’t letting the family down darling.”

“Mother?”

“Your father here seems to have no problem with the fact that you addled brother has decided to give that common harlot the Ashurst name.”

“Now isn’t the time Winifred,” her father’s voice is low but there is a definite warning in his words.

“When would be the time James? During the ceremony? When one of the little bastards that she produces to sully our name gets themself arrested? Perhaps on my deathbed? That last one may not be too far off because if this wedding does go ahead it will force me into an early grave.” It would seem that her mother’s questions where purely rhetorical because she flounces off without waiting for a reply.

He father sighs and places a hand on her shoulder, “I had better go after her.”

“Don’t you think you should wait for her to cool down?”

“In the long run it is better to deal with the fireworks than the cold burn.” Her places a kiss on her forehead, “Don’t worry pumpkin every thing will be ok.”

“Do you think he will manage to get her under control by tomorrow?” she follows the sound of the voice to find Scribbs on the landing above having clearly witnessed a significant portion of the interaction between her parents.

“She didn’t really mean it,” she could not sound less convincing if she tried.

“Of course she meant it,” Scribbs replies as she descends the stairs.

“She would never think that anyone is good enough for Charles.”

“Maybe so but she certainly thinks he could have done a whole lot better than me.”

“She likes you well enough.”

“Ash,” she laughs softly and runs her hand down Ash’s arm setting her body alight, “did you think that I wasn’t aware that your mother thinks I am nothing more than a gold digging slut.”

“I, I, um,” she stammers.

“You know I am actually a lot more offended to find out that you think that I am too dim witted to notice that your mother can’t stand me than I could be anything that she thinks.”

“I didn’t mean to imply anything.”

“Your faith in my observational skills really is quite limited isn’t it? I’m surprised that you don’t organise to have me reassigned.”

“I would never do that, you’re my partner and I need you,” she means that completely and sadly it is probably as close to a declaration of love as she will ever be able to give.

“Well you be sure to let me know if that ever changes. I wouldn’t want to stand in the way of your happiness.” There is no sarcasm in her tone but Scribbs looks hurt and Ash can think of no way of comforting her that doesn’t make the situation far worse for herself and so she just nods and leaves. It is a long way from the best thing that she has done in her life but then it seems that her time with Scribbs has been nothing but a litany of mistakes and missteps and in a way her inappropriate response seems fitting. Fitting or not it does not sit well with her and she blames that moment for the breakdown of her carefully constructed master plan of strict sobriety in the face of all things related to Scribbs’ nuptials.

In many ways the failure of her plan was a blessing in disguise as it facilitated her early exit from the festivities. She hadn’t actually reached the point of being pain free when her mother took her aside and politely but definitively ordered her back to the house and so she was forced to continue to partake in libations alone. Her banishment didn’t last all that long, she is not sure when festivities wound up but she is fairly certain that they were still going when she passed out around midnight. 

She awakes to a headache and some unnecessary seismic activity in her vicinity. “Jesus Scribbs what the hell are you doing?”

“Shhhhhhh.”

“That’s really not an answer,” she tries to be in command and dignified but finds that difficult when she can’t even manage to sit up.

“Shhhhhh,” Scribbs responds again, louder and with more force this time.

“I don’t need to be shhhhhhhed,” she is no longer trying to be in command, she is merely trying to combat that fact that noise is echoing in her head in a way that makes her think that someone may have removed her brain during the night.

“I am trying very hard to be quiet and not to wake your mother.”

“Wouldn’t matter she has some kind of bat sonar.”

“I always assumed it was a sort of third eye.”

“She may well have that too.”

“I am getting married tomorrow.”

She really does not need Scribbs to point out the obvious, “I seem to recall something about it.”

“I don’t think you’re happy about it.”

Ash is taken aback by this, she felt she had never displayed anything but overwhelming support for the union, “How can you say that?”

“Well,” Scribbs pauses and adjusts her position making the bed and Ash’s stomach bounce, “you have seemed really happy about it.”

“And from this you deduce that I am unhappy?” if her head wasn’t already swimming it would be now.

“You,” Scribbs pokes a finger at her, “don’t do happy.”

“Of course I do happy.”

“No, not like this. You’ve been overwhelmingly positive.”

“Again, I am not sure why you think this a bad thing?”

“You haven’t lectured me or been sarcastic or given me any rules. You haven’t been you.”

“And you take this to mean that I am not happy?”

“I take it to mean that something isn’t right.”

“Everything’s fine. I am not my mother, I am happy to welcome you in to my family.”

Scribbs lets out a disappointed sigh and lies down as though in defeat, “Go back to sleep, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“You are going to sleep here?”

“Is that a problem?”

It is a rather large problem for her actually – more specifically it is a Scribbs’ shaped problem, “You’re not worried about what people will think?”

“What is there for people to worry about?” Scribbs sounds remarkably bitter.

“It just doesn’t seem proper.”

“Why not? Brides get to have support and I chose you. It’s not like you are going to take advantage of me,” it must be her imagination but she could swear that Scribbs sounds petulant.

“Of course I am not.”

“Why not?”

“Why, why would I?” she stammers.

“What’s wrong with me?”

She has absolutely no idea what she is meant to say and tries to go for something tactful, “Nothing.”

“So why won’t you take advantage of me?’

“Scribbs you are marrying my brother tomorrow.”

“Yes I am marrying _your_ brother.”

“I just said that.”

“Why can’t you just get it?”

“Get what?”

“God, Ash I spent years throwing myself at you.”

“You most certainly did not.”

“I think I am in a position to be able to say what I did and didn’t do.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Yes I did. I flirted endlessly, I sent all the right signals.”

“You dated a string of men and ended up engaged to my brother. Are those the signals you are talking about?”

“They were part of it.”

“Marrying my brother was a ploy to get with me?”

“You make it sound crazy when you say it like that.”

“Exactly how should I make it sound?”

“I started going out with him in the hope that it would get your attention but that didn’t really work.”

“So you decided to up the ante and get married to him?”

“No, I am marrying him because he is nice and he is good to me and at least it will allow you me to be part of your family.”

“Scribbs…” she can’t think of anything to say.

“It’s ok.”

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“I shouldn’t have had to.”

“How did you know that I might even like you like that?”

Even in the dim light she can see Scribbs roll her eyes, “I told you, I am not as bad a detective as you seem to think that I am.”

“So why did you leave it this long?”

“There is a big difference between thinking that you like me and thinking that you would want to be with me.”

“For what it’s worth I wanted to be with you.”

“I didn’t expect you to admit that.”

“Thought I was too repressed?”

“Thought you were too proper,” Scribbs corrects.

“So maybe I’m not the only going around making false assumptions.”

“Maybe,” Scribbs smiles at her indulgently.

“Scribbs, I……”

“Shhhhhhh,” this time Scribbs choses to silence her by placing a finger over her lips and Ash offers no objections. She also fails to object when Scribbs snuggles down beside her despite the wave of nausea this action causes. They both know that this is a moment in limbo and seem to have a tacit understanding that any speech may risk breaking their tiny magic bubble.

Ash had been determined to stay awake and to imprint every second to memory but as with so many of her plans lately this fails spectacularly. She awakens to a distinct lack of warmth and a sudden flash of blinding light. Sribbs is at the window wrestling with the curtains and looks sheepish, “I didn’t mean to wake you but I have to go soon.”

“I know,” she manages to utter the words without her voice wavering and thanks her stiff-upper-lip upbringing. Scribbs stares at her for a while and then crosses the room to sit on the end of the bed. Ash feels warm fingers entwine with hers and then a kiss dusts her lips. She is busy trying to tell herself that this is fine, that this is a moment of expressed joy between friends and that there is absolutely nothing going on when Scribbs straddles her on the bed and plunders her mouth. There is no way she can write this off as innocent and so she shuts her brain down and kisses back with gusto. Scribbs deepens the kiss and rocks slowly against her and Ash issues a helpless whimper.

Scribbs responds to the sound as though she has been shot and tumbles off Ash and onto the floor, “I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not,” she is shocked at her own words.

A smile pulls at the edge of Scribbs’ lips but her eyes remain haunted. She shuffles across the floor and runs her fingers through Ash’s hair, “I really love you, you know?”

Ash places her hand over Scribbs’, stilling its movements, “Likewise.” Their eyes locked and Ash feels like they will be trapped in this moment for eternity. Apparently eternity is significantly shorter than she imagined as Scribbs almost immediately disengages herself and leaves the room without a backward glance. Ash places a pillow over her head to shield herself from a world full of light and pain and utters the only thing that feels remotely appropriate, “Oh fuck.”


	2. Chapter 2

The day is overcast which pleases her; she had expected that the universe would supply a counterpoint of sunshine and bird songs to underscore her heartache and pain. The considerable cloud cover does nothing to protect her fragile eyes though, when she attempts to glance out the window Ash discovers that there are no sunglasses in the world strong enough to protect her from the symptoms of her hangover. She manages to get dressed and even to apply some makeup but somehow the application of eye shadow only serves to emphasise the darkness under her eyes. Ash assesses herself in the mirror and decides she looks like she is going to a funeral rather than a wedding, which in many ways is apt.

She is debating whether she will attempt to apply more concealer when her mother bustles into the room. Eyes scan her body as if looking for imperfections and she braces herself for a scathing report, especially when her mother puts a hand under Ash’s chin and pays close attention to the smudges beneath her eyes. To her surprise her mother only says, “This is a hard day for the Ashurst family but we will all just need to grin and bear it.”

Ash is dumbstruck, she is aware of her mother’s disdain for Scribbs but she would have assumed that at the end of the day her mother would have felt that it was more important for them all to look good in the society papers than it was to make subtle protests about the coupling. Still, her mother’s assumption that she is on her side will problem help to make the day a little easier for her.

“I have to go and attend to things downstairs, that imbecile of a florist is insisting on _sprinkling_ sprays of baby’s breath on the tables,” her mother gives a look of true horror and rushes off to deal with the imagined emergency. Ash is just about to flop back onto the bed and consider staying there until she is ninety when Scribbs comes through the door.

“You should be more careful, you just missed my mother.”

“I know. I’ve been waiting for her to leave.”

“You’re turning into quite the eavesdropper aren’t you?”

“I am merely exhibiting my outstanding surveillance skills.”

“I’m surprised she’s left, she must have known you were lurking.”

Ash expected Scribbs to defend her stealth capabilities but instead Scribbs shrugs and replies, “I knew she’d have to leave eventually.”

“Why? What did you do?” Ash asks suspiciously. 

“Nothing. I just know how to take advantage of a camp man with a fixation for small sprigs of flowers.”

“I’m not sure that my mother knows who she’s dealing with.”

Scribbs shrugs again, “I’m used to being underestimated.”

She is aware that many people underestimate Scribbs, that her looks and bubbly personality work against her but Ash can’t help feeling that the comment was directed at a specific target. “So are you ready for the day?”

“Can’t you see that I’m positively brimming over with excitement?”

Ash knows she may live to regret her next words but she can’t seem to stop herself from saying, “It’s not too late to call it off.”

“Yes it is. Charles is somewhere in this building putting on a monkey suit and expecting to give me the happiest day of my life.”

“Will he?” she asks as she places herself on the edge of the bed.

“Will he what?”

“Give you the happiest day of your life?”

“No,” Scribbs sighs and comes to sit next to her.

“So why are you going through with this?”

“Because he doesn’t know that.”

Ash reaches out to join their hands, “Scribbs….”

“Don’t. Just don’t. I don’t have a choice now.”

“Of course you do.” She squeezes the hand in hers and looks Scribbs in the eye, “We can do something about this.”

“No we can’t,” Scribbs replies harshly. “He loves me and he didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But do you love him?”

“In a way.”

“You’re going to commit yourself to someone that you love in a way?”

“He’s good to me and I could do a lot worse. I’ve done a lot worse. He’s not married, he hasn’t asked me to put suntan lotion on his ears and he hasn’t shown any signs of wanting to drill a hole in my head and suck my brain out with a straw.”

“Oh well I guess it’s all ok then,” she replies and flops back onto the bed in defeat.

Scribbs leans back on her elbows, “It’s not ok. I’m not sure that it will ever be ok again but it is what it is. I’m going to be a bride today and you are going to support me and your brother.”

“I’m not sure that I can do that Scribbs.”

“You can and you will because you love me and I presume you love your brother too.”

She never thought it would hurt to hear that someone thinks she loves them and yet it feels like a steamroller has just driven over her heart. “Don’t you realise how horrible that would be for me?”

“Don’t you realise how many people would get hurt if I didn’t go through with the wedding,” Scribbs lowers herself fully. “The horse has bolted already Ash but look on the bright side, at least I get to be Emma Ashurst.”

“It doesn’t have to happen this way,” Ash rolls over and attempts to kiss Scribbs but firm hands grab her shoulders.

“We can’t. You’ll ruin my make-up.” Ash feels a small sense of victory related to fact that Scribbs doesn’t seem to be protesting to the idea of kissing in general but her victory is short lived. It drowns under the wave of despair that claims her when she realises that the make-up that Scribbs doesn’t want to ruin is the make-up that Scribbs will wear to marry Charles. She is firmly ensconced in self-pityville and determined to wallow there forever when she notices a hand creeping up under her skirt.

“You just said we couldn’t.”

Scribbs hand has skimmed up to her stomach and is now pulling the top of her stockings away from her skin, “This won’t mess up my make-up.”

“But your wedding,” she protests weakly as her thighs fall apart.

“Well I’m not married yet,” Scribbs winks as she begins to pull down Ash’s stockings, “and I need you so very badly.”

There are so many reasons that she shouldn’t be doing this and even though right now she can’t seem to bring a single one of them to mind she knows that she needs to be the sensible one, “I need you too but we can’t do this.”

“It seems that we already are,” Scribbs replies as she pushes aside Ash’s underwear to allow her fingers to explore the terrain below. “You’re so wet,” Scribbs states looking down on her with awe.

“I am?” She is genuinely surprised. She can hear Scribbs fingers sliding through moisture so she knows that it must be true but it is really not like her to become aroused so quickly. 

“I think so,” Scribbs removes her hand and examines her fingers in earnest. “Yes definitely. What do you think?” she asks as she places her hand over Ash’s lips.

Ash can smell herself on Scribbs’ skin and the moment feels incredibly surreal and yet entirely right. Any resistance that she may have possessed has definitely disappeared and she draws one of Scribbs’ fingers into her mouth. Scribbs responds by using a free hand to cup Ash’s breast. Ash is nearly convinced that she can actually feel the temperature in the room rising. She is more convinced that she can feel it falling when someone knocks on the door and effectively douses the pair of them with a cold bucket of water.

Scribbs’ sister pops her head into the room. “Emma what are you doing here? I’ve been looking everywhere for you. The hairdresser has been ready for you for the last hour.”

Scribbs faces her sister calmly and if Ash didn’t know what they had just been doing she doubts that she would suspect it from Scribbs’ demeanour, “I was trying to help Ash get ready. She seems to be suffering from an Olympic-sized hangover.”

“You poor thing,” Sara responds with sincerity, “if you let Emma go and get ready I’ll find you some hair of the dog and we’ll get this day underway.”

Scribbs somehow manages to make a dignified exit from the room and her sister departs in her wake leaving Ash to struggle with rearranging herself so that her clothes don’t scream ‘I just nearly fucked the bride to be’. She is still fighting with her stockings, which seem determined to twist in a way so as to make them unwearable, when Sara returns to the room. True to her word she has come equipped with a bottle of Cristal. “I took the liberty of opening it outside cause I thought you might be a little intolerant of noise right now.” She hands Ash a glass and looks at her with concern, “It can’t be easy having your younger brother get married before you. Don’t worry it will happen for you one day. After all who would have ever guessed that Emma would get married given her dating record?” 

She knows that Sara is trying to be supportive but she has never wanted to bitch-slap a human being as much as she does right now, “Emma getting married has come as quite a surprise to all of us.”

“As I said, your time will come. I had better go and help Emma out with things. Enjoy the champagne Kate.”

The bottle is consumed far too quickly for Ash to register any enjoyment, not that she is actually capable of feeling anything right at this moment. The numbness, be it emotional or alcohol induced, is a blessing and she makes her way through the festivities on cruise control. She barely notices her mother’s false bon ami, her brother’s unbridled joy or the fact that Scribbs is glowing. She leaves her arms down as the bouquet is thrown and isn’t the slightest bit upset when it is caught by a ten year old flower girl. She escapes before things conclude because she knows she’s incapable of watching Scribbs depart for her honeymoon. If her exit is noticed no-one comes searching for her and she spends the rest of the night undisturbed until the intrusion of a phone call at three am.

She stares at her mobile display as through somehow she can will the call to go away but quickly weakens and answers. “I don’t really think that it’s the best idea for you to be calling tonight.”

“I didn’t go to finishing school so I am not versed in the appropriate time to call your brand new sister-in-law whom you happen to be in love with.”

“Maybe there is no appropriate time for that.”

“So calling now is as good a time as any isn’t it?”

“Scribbs maybe you shouldn’t be calling at all. What if Charles hears you.”

“Don’t worry he’s fast asleep and I’m calling from the bathroom. Are you saying that you are never going to talk to me again cause that is going to make working with you a little strange, although I am looking forward to you not being able to disagree with any of my theories.”

“Of course I will talk to you. You’re part of my family now,” she can taste the bitterness in her own words.

“You left without saying goodbye,” Scribbs’ words sound equally bitter.

“I couldn’t bring myself to say goodbye to you.”

Scribbs’ voice softens, “I don’t know what we are going to do.”

“I think you should start by trying to enjoy your honeymoon,” this is the last thing that she wants but she can’t really recommend anything else.

“I don’t know that I can.”

“You have to try.”

“I could try with all my might but I won’t be able to enjoy myself.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Ash, I’m on my honeymoon and am calling you from the toilet because I can’t bring myself to wash my hand because it has your scent on it.”

The lump that forms in the back of her throat seems to be made of the tears she is soon to cry. “I can’t talk to you right now. I’m going to have to hang up.” She terminates the call and breaks her own heart in the process. Then she takes the only option left to her – she removes the battery from her phone and cries herself to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Ash had been living on tender hooks. She expected that the world would change when Scribbs returned from her honeymoon, that there would be some sort of irreversible cosmic shift. What frightens her is how small that change turns out to be. Sure Scribbs’ entry into the squad room is punctuated by catcalls and there’s a day or so of practical jokes but the buffoons quickly tire of the topic and within a few days you wouldn’t know that a major life event had occurred. 

Scribbs does bitch a bit about having post leave depression and mocks Ash for not having solved any cases in her absence but she doesn’t comment on the fact that Ash hasn’t replied to any of her texts or calls. Ash thought there would be distance, she deserves for there to be distance, but instead there’s smiling eyes and banter and complete lack of respect for important rules. Scribbs is just Scribbs and in many ways that’s the hardest thing of all. She’s sure that things would have been much easier if the only thing to have changed wasn’t the new gold band that adorns Scribbs’ left hand.

They fall back into a companionable working relationship. She should be happy, this is so much better than anything that she could have hoped for and yet somehow it just feels so wrong. She doesn’t want to think about what it means that she would somehow be happier if Scribbs were to ignore her or yell at her. All things considered, Scribbs is handling this with dignity and decorum and Ash is terrified that she may actually be jealous. Everyone knows that she is meant to be the mature, functional one of the duo and part of her hates Scribbs for reducing her to the level were she is secretly wishing for her partner to fall apart.

They remain in this unsatisfying status quo for some time. It pains her to find that they have become more productive and that their closure rate has increased to the point where it’s being recognised by Sullivan. He has even started making comments about the fact that getting married has worked wonders on Scribbs and that if they could just manage to marry her off too then there would be no murders left unsolved. Ash wants to cut his testicles off with a sharp implement. Preferably a rusty one.

She hasn’t put her life on hold. She has even continued to date but subjecting herself to the mating ritual is even more trying than it used to be. She tells herself that it’s just because she doesn’t know what she looking for but in her heart she knows that a lie. She has already found what she was looking for and she let it slip through her fingers, she’s not going to get another chance.

Her pathetic love life means that she has no choice but to focus on work which is cruel given that her work day means constant contact with unattainable the love of her life. The pressure of having to face Sribbs on a daily basis has made her drive to close cases insatiable. Elusive leads and lack of concrete evidence have become a personal affront. Her level of zeal has lead to the current situation where she is conducting surveillance of a suspect in her own time. It’s been over a week since she has slept anywhere other than her car but she is convinced that the sacrifice is worth it. No-one else believes that this suspect is any thing but squeaky clean but she is convinced of his guilt and not because, as Scribbs has suggested, she closed her eyes and threw a dart at the white board. Mr Squeaking is guilty, she knows if with every fibre of her being, she just needs to find a way to prove it.

The temperature falls as the night progresses and she wraps her coat tightly around her body and blows on her gloved hands in an attempt to create some warmth. Her body is uncomfortably cramped and she is losing battles to both fatigue and the cold when someone raps at the car window. She jumps in her seat and turns to find Scribbs standing at the window making a roll-down motion, “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Clearly bringing some badly needed surveillance skills given that you didn’t notice me coming.” Scribbs makes a gesture indicating that she needs to unlock the door and against her better judgement she complies. “I thought you could use some company,” Scribbs states as she arranges herself in the car.

“It’s not really a social event.”

“But it did give me the opportunity to wear my mushroom clothes,” Scribbs happily gestures to her dowdy overcoat.

“I thought you got rid of those.”

The blonde shrugs her shoulders, “You never know when something will come in handy.”

“You are such a hoarder.”

“And look how well it pays off,” Scribbs’ smile is luminous. “I also brought snacks.”

“This isn’t really a social event.”

“Are you getting paid?”

“No.”

“Does Sullivan know you’re here.”

“Not exactly.”

“If something gruesome were to happen would you be covered by your pension.”

“What sort of gruesome thing?”

“I don’t know. Someone may take offence to you parking here all the time and chop your legs off with a chainsaw.”

“I think that’s pretty unlikely.”

“But it’s the unlikely things that we need to be covered for and you aren’t are you?”

“Well no.”

“So by all indications this is not work related which definitely makes it a social event. A very boring social event.”

“I’m so sorry to disappoint. Besides I don’t recall extending an invitation to you.”

“That really was remiss. Posh Girls High would be devastated to learn that your social graces have deteriorated so.”

She smiles in spite of herself, “You really don’t have to be here.”

“I know but I want to be.” Blue eyes stare at her intently and she feels her heart skip a beat. “I’m worried about you.”

“Why,” she replies completely flawed.

“This,” Scribbs waves her hands around the car, “you don’t have to save the world. I don’t like seeing you looking so tired all the time.”

“You’ve noticed that I look tired?”

“I notice everything about you.” She can hardly breathe and an uncomfortable silence falls between them. “I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have said that.”

“No,” her response is a little too emphatic. “It’s ok. I like that you want to look out for me.”

“Of course I do. You know how a feel about you.” The uncomfortable silence is back. Scribbs looks contrite, “I mean I care about you and I want good things for you.”

“I know,” she replies quietly.

“What can I do to help?” Scribbs asks as she grabs Ash’s hand.

“I honestly don’t know.”

“Do you want me to go?”

“No.”

“Good cause I brought good things with me.”

“I’m sure you did,” there is a slight condescending tone in her voice that she finds strangely comforting.

“Absolutely. I feel like I’m in some sort of American cop show from the seventies, I even made a surveillance playlist.”

“Scribbs we can’t turn the car on.”

“Really? I missed the first day of stakeouts for beginners and totally thought you could. I brought my own speakers.”

“I didn’t mean to imply that you didn’t know what you were doing.”

“Of course you did,” Scribbs states as she sets up her equipment but she doesn’t seem unhappy.

“Do I get veto power on songs that I find unacceptable?”

“Absolutely not.”

She doesn’t complain, instead she watches Scribbs surreptitiously and feels an overwhelming sense of contentment, “I’m glad you came.”

‘Me too,” Scribbs grabs her hand again, “I’ve missed you.”

Ash wants to point out that that is ridiculous and that they see one another every day but instead she finds herself saying, “I’ve missed you too.”

Scribbs’ thumb is rubbing over the back of her glove and even through the leather her skin feels alive with electricity, “I miss you all the time.” Scribbs’ voice is husky and dangerously close to her ear.

She knows she should say nothing. She knows she should disentangle their hands. She knows she needs to keep staring firmly ahead. 

She doesn’t do any of those very sensible things. She turns her head to find Scribbs well and truly in her personal space. When she looks back on the moment she can’t decide who initiated the movement. She desperately wants to have someone to blame but it really does seems like the kiss just started itself.

Neither of them withdraw and before she knows it Scribbs has pulled her over onto her lap. If she was cramped before she is in a whole new world of confinement now but somehow she fails to notice. She can’t feel anything but Scribbs’ lips on hers and the fingers that have travelled under her shirt. Her own hands fumble with the buttons and zipper on Scribbs’ pants. When she finally manages to undo the stubborn fasteners she finds there is little room her hand. She alters the angle and still finds that she is only able to cup the very edge of Scribbs’ sex. “I need more room.”

She goes to remove her hand but Scribbs grabs her wrist, “No it’s fine. It’s more than fine.” Ash breaks off their kisses and leans back as far as she can. Even the poor light she can see that Scribbs’ eyes are dark and that her breath is coming in short pants. Despite the fact that her legs are trapped under Ash’s Scribbs is managing to squirm against Ash’s fingers in rhythmic movements. Ash does her best to match those movements and continues them even when Scribbs’ bucking becomes erratic. The darkened eyes lock onto hers, “Kiss me.” She has no choice but to comply and kisses Scribbs deeply until she feels her body spasm beneath her. Scribbs’ head falls onto Ash’s chest and she strokes her hair until she feels her breathing settle. Her partner recovers faster than she anticipated and looks at Ash with lust, “Your turn.”

Ash is in no position to refuse and lets Scribbs’ hands climb up her back and undo her bra. Fingers are dancing around her ribs to the front of her chest when a car alarm goes off and they fling apart.

Scribbs looks at her sheepishly, “We probably should be doing this somewhere else.”

“Yes,” she reluctantly agrees. “I should take you home.”

Scribbs becomes a large pout with puppy eyes attached but nods her head in agreement, “I know.”

They don’t talk during drive. Scribbs readjusts her clothing and then pulls Ash’s hand off the steering wheel to join hers. In turn Ash flips Scribbs’ hand over and place it on her own thigh. She feels an unaccustomed sense of peace and tries to suppress the wave of resentment that blindsides her as they arrive at Scribbs’ house. Scribbs peers out at the darkened house and neighbourhood and then kisses her soundly.

“See you soon,” Scribbs whispers as she exits the car. She nods in agreement.

The following day she applies for a transfer.


	4. Chapter 4

Bradford isn’t anything like Middleford and while that really was the point of moving she is not sure if it is a good thing. Middleford was full of straight forward, down the line murders with old-fashioned motives like greed and revenge. Bradford seems to be serial killer central and full or murders who kill based on some ritualistic premise or another and who are more likely to be motivated by the phase of the moon than they are by learning that their spouse has been unfaithful. It’s a chaotic world full of puzzles with no proper pieces and it’s unlike any policing she has ever done.

Not only is the nature of her work different so is the structure. She no longer works with a partner, instead she leads a team. A team that she suspects judge her even though they give no indication that they feel anything but respect. At least it’s nice that they judge lack of experience rather than gender. They are used to female leaders but they are also used to leaders with a lot more experience with psychopaths and she feels like she is the blind leading the 20/20 visioned.

It’s strange to not have a partner. In many ways she feels lost without one. The team are loyal but there just isn’t the sense that you are working with someone that you can trust with your life. The closet thing she has to a partner nowadays is a socially awkward, quite possibly autistic, profiler who has managed to attach himself to her like a suckerfish despite her very clear indications that he was not needed. He is far from the ideal partner but then it was working with the ideal partner that got her into this mess in the first place. At least he is not going to look at her with big eyes and attempt to convince her that putting processed sugar into a blender equates to cuisine. 

Working closely with someone who is essentially the anti-Scribbs should come as a relief but somehow it just makes her miss Scribbs more. Their contact has been sporadic and limited to family functions. It’s so strange to have to deal with Scribbs in that setting. In the past she spent quite a bit of time fantasising about what it would be like to bring Scribbs to such events and it’s not all that different to what she envisioned. Scribbs may not be on her arm and her mother may not be having an apoplexy about her perfect daughter turning out to be a lesbian but Scribbs is still about as welcome as syphilis. Her mother is fast perfecting her dying swan routine and often retires to bed soon after Scribbs’ arrives. Scribbs seems to float above it all in a cloud of sunshine that makes her mother’s behaviour all the more deplorable. She does note that sometimes Scribbs’ eyes seem haunted but other than that there is no indication that Scribbs has been affected by her departure.

She didn’t inform Scribbs of the transfer, she didn’t know how. She had expected an explosion of fireworks once Scribbs found out but instead Scribbs looked at her with compassion and said, “I understand,” and never brought the matter up again.

It’s been a year since she arrived in Bradford. Long enough to start to grow roots. Long enough to start to let go of her past. It’s not working though, nothing about her heart or mind has changed. She doesn’t mean for there to be such a chasm between her and Scribbs but she doesn’t know what to do about it. She thinks about calling her all the time but she has no idea what she would say.

She knows she is stuck in this strange limbo where the only future she can see is in her past and no matter how hard she tries she can’t seem to move. In the end she doesn’t have to move because her past comes to her. She is standing at her door, her heart pounding and ever fibre of her being aware of what will happen if she opens it but knowing that she will do it anyway.

They stand in silence with the door jam between them until Scribbs announces, “We both know that you are going to let me in.” She stands aside and a year of carefully constructed distance crashes down around her. Scribbs’ eyes survey the apartment but she makes no comment. The blonde settles herself on the couch, “Aren’t you going to offer me a drink?”

She is pleased for the busy work but hates the way the glasses shake in her hands as she places them on the coffee table. Scribbs doesn’t touch her drink, she simply sits staring a Ash. Ash feels unbelievably self-conscious and takes a very large and decidedly unladylike swig from her wine glass. She has no idea what to do, in a way she knows that when she let Scribbs cross the threshold she set events into motion and the conclusion is inevitable but she has no idea how to reach it. She clutches her glass tightly and stares into it as though its contents hold the secrets to the universe. Scribbs gently divests her of the vessel and she suddenly feels lost without it. Her hands are uncomfortably empty and she balls them into tight fists. Scribbs gentling traces her fingers over the back of Ash’s hands and she knows she should tell her to stop but instead she says, “What are we going to do?”

Her question was meant to reflect the enormity of their problem but Scribbs takes a more immediate interpretation, “You are going to take me bed.”

She is ashamed to say that it doesn’t occur to her to protest. She nods and grasps Scribbs hand to pull her to the bedroom. It’s not exactly a tableau of hearts and roses in fact it is one of the most awkward moments of her life. They don’t devour one another in a fit of passion; they simply stand on opposite sides of the bed as though they are afraid to touch. Their eyes don’t leave one another and the air is charged but their actions are clinical and methodical – Ash even finds herself folding her clothes as she removes them. Scribbs manages to strip first and climbs under the covers. She quickly joins her and finds herself pulled into Scribbs’ arms.

Somehow everything is different once their skin touches. Everything just feels good and right. It obviously has the same effect on Scribbs as she has lost her taciturn ways, “I never thought you’d leave so soon.”

“I had no choice.”

“I know and knew you would leave me but I thought that you’d at least stay until your case was solved.”

“It eats me up every day that I left that unfinished. I’m still sure he did it.”

“I know. You spent forever stalking him.”

“It’s called surveillance when you’re a police officer.”

“Whatever. I really liked that the case was never going to go anywhere.”

“Why?” she cannot comprehend how anyone could be comfortable with that sort of outcome.

“I’d thought you’d stay because of it. It was the only way I had of keeping you.”

Scribbs’ honesty can be quite frightening at times, “Can you ever forgive me for leaving?”

“There’s nothing to forgive. I’m the one who put us in this position.”

“No-one is to blame.”

“You’re wrong. I’m the one who let the things get beyond the point of no return with Charles.”

“You had no reason not to.”

Scribbs shakes her head forlornly, “I should have more faith in us. I should have had more faith in me. I just never could quite believe that you would ever want me.”

She laughs in spite of herself, “Ironic really under the circumstances.”

A smile explodes over Scribbs’ face, “Kiss me.” She has no choice but to comply. The kisses are deep and needy as though they are trying to make up for a year of restraint with each one. Her hands begin their exploration of Scribbs’ body and apparently they are needy too as they travel south much faster than she had anticipated. Scribbs bats her hands away and Ash at her with confusion. “I told you it’s your turn,” Scribbs growls.

She finds herself pushed onto her back with Scribbs straddling her waist and grinding against her, “I thought it was my turn,” she pouts. God help her she actually pouts.

“It is,” Scribbs laughs and lies down on top of her. Lips quickly attach themselves to her nipple and she finds herself arching her back trying to offer more of her breast to Scribbs’ mouth. Scribbs’ attack on her breasts is slow and deliberate and it is driving her crazy. Another part of her body is crying out for attention and she wraps her legs around Scribbs to try and communicate her needs. “I thought I was meant to be the impatient one,” Scribbs says as she finally places her fingers where Ash needs them. She is slick and ready and Scribbs fingers slide easily into her body. She is embarrassed by how quickly she spasms around those fingers. Scribbs doesn’t seem to mind though; she just looks down on her in wonder.

Normally the aftermath is something that makes her feel uncomfortable. There is something undignified about lying there sweaty and dishevelled but somehow she feels that she is beautiful in Scribbs’ eyes. “I love you,” she hadn’t planned on saying that but the words just seemed to escape.

“I love you too Ash.” Damn it Scribbs even manages to make being called Ash sexy and appealing. She rolls on her side, tangles their bodies together and resumes the kissing. 

Scribbs lets Ash win the battle for bed dominance and falls onto her back. Ash supports herself on one elbow and traces lazy patterns on Scribbs abdomen. She feels Scribbs tense beneath her. “Do you not like that? Are you ticklish?”

“It’s not that,” Scribbs looks torn.

“What’s wrong?”

“There is something I need to tell you.” Scribbs looks like her world is going to end and she finds herself holding her breath. “I don’t know how to say this.”

“You’re frightening me,” she admits.

“I’m pregnant.”

Tears are in her eyes before she even processes the words. “You should have told me sooner.”

“I know.”

“I can’t be this woman,” her voice shakes and Scribbs goes to hold her but she pushes her away.

“Ash you’re not. Neither of us are.”

“Is that why you came?”

“In part.”

“I don’t feel very good right now.”

“I’m sorry that wasn’t my intention. It’s a pretty big thing and I just wanted to be with you. I wanted you to be the first to know.”

She had been about to launch into a diatribe and is floored by that response, “Charles doesn’t know.”

“Not yet. You’re the first person I thought of, you’re always the first person that I think of.”

Scribbs isn’t making it easy for her, “Are you happy?”

“Yes and terrified. I know this probably isn’t the best time to ask but I want you to be the godmother.”

The air flees her lungs, “I don’t think I can answer that right now.”

“It’s ok. You should think about it and I should go.” 

She wants to protest, she want to pull Scribbs back into her arms and keep her there forever but she allows the sensible side of her to respond, “Yes you should.” She throws her clothes back on and lets Scribbs out before collapsing onto her bed and becoming a tight ball of pain and tears.

A few hours later she emerges from her cocoon and manages to drag her body to the couch. She empties the glasses in front of her heedless to the fact that the liquid in them is warm. She doesn’t feel safe to be alone and calls the only person that she can think of. He arrives looking rumpled and sporting one of his ubiquitous blue plastic bags. She leads him into the lounge room and finds herself babbling, “I’m sorry about the hour, I just needed not to be alone and I thought you would be ok with coming over. Not that I want to imply that other people might have been preferable and wouldn’t come. I’m sorry, I’m just a bit of a mess. Can I get you anything?”

“Coffee would be good and don’t worry I know I’m not at the top of anyone’s speed dial.” From anyone else that would have been self-deprecating but from Tony it’s just an honest assessment of his life.

She makes the coffees and notes that she has an easier time carrying them out than she did the wine a few hours ago. “I feel terrible about dragging you out in the middle of the night.”

“Do you want to talk about whatever it is that’s bothering you?”

“I don’t know where to start.”

“Fair enough,” he replies and sips his coffee.

She finds herself frustrated by his complete lack understanding of social cues, “I just had sex with my pregnant sister-in-law.” She tried to fling her problem at him as some form of attack but he seems unperturbed which angers her further.

After a while he says, “I assume she is your bother’s wife rather than the sister of a husband than I’m not aware of.”

“Yes,” she replies flummoxed by his thought processes.

“I can see how that would be awkward but I’m rather relieved.”

“You’re relieved that I committed adultery with my brother’s wife?” she is incredulous.

“She’s the one committing adultery.”

“Fine but why would you be relieved.”

“I’ve had rather confusing relationships with the last two detectives I think one of them might have loved me and I’m reasonably certain that I loved her. It’s also possible that I went on a date with your predecessor, I’m not sure though. Anyway it’s nice to know that there will be none of that confusion with you.”

“You’re not sure that you went on a date?”

“Kate surely you know that I’m good at interpreting abstract concepts of disturbed behaviour but that I have a bit of trouble with how I relate to the world.”

She lets out a dry laugh, which is a nice surprise because she thought she would never laugh again, “I can’t believe I am sharing my problems with someone even more clueless than I am.” He takes no offence to her statement and they have a reasonably pleasant time together given the circumstances. She offers to let him stay on the couch but he shakes his head tell her than she needs to face being alone with her problems.

As she opens the door he gives her a thoughtful look, “Nothing in life is simple.”

“What do you think I should do?” she’s sure that she will kick herself later for asking him for advice.

“How would I know?”

She sighs and closes the door. It is a strange end to an even stranger evening but it’s probably better than having spent the night crying. She crawls back into bed and tries not to think about what transpired there earlier. She tells herself that the reason she is lying on the side of the bed that Scribbs occupied is because her side is dirty and can almost make herself believe that. It is harder to find a rational explanation as to why she sends a text to Scribbs confirming that she will be the godmother or why her heart sores when Scribbs sends a smiley face in response and there is certainly no rational explanation for leaving the smiley face on display and falling asleep with the phone in her hand.


	5. Chapter 5

She knows first hand that the world is a terrifying and dangerous place and that people are capable of unfathomable evil. Life is chaos. You can die because you crossed the street at the wrong time or because the colour of your shirt sends some sort of higher message to a psychotic individual. If people saw the things that she has seen they would never leave their house but then you can live with someone, think you know them, think you love them, and they can extinguish your life without breaking a sweat. Her only question at the moment is why has the anarchy of life and death deserted her when she needs it most?

She kept hoping that some sociopath would abduct, torture and kill based on the fact that a person fit an archetype created in their id or that someone’s awkward and quiet neighbour would suddenly take to a roof top with a hunting riffle. At the very least a husband could have had the decency to bludgeon his wife to death because she burnt the dinner. None of those things happened, it is like every single person with homicidal tendency in her jurisdiction is taking an hiatus just to spite her and hence there has been no phone call to drag her into work and to allow her to avoid a tableau more horrible than the most brutal of crime scenes. 

The need to go and visit someone in hospital because they have had a baby has always been a social nicety that she has had difficulty understanding. They are not sick, they have not befallen a random accident, they chose the actions that landed them in hospital and she doesn’t understand why she is therefore obliged to visit them. She wouldn’t go and see someone because they had a nose job or decided to have their breast enlarged so why should she traipse off to a hospital because someone she knows decides to breed. 

Hospitals don’t bother her, she isn’t distanced from death the way the general public is, but they are not a place that well people should be trying to frequent. The fact that childbirth occurs within a hospital only confirms her suspicion that it is an insane act.   
She is aware that it is possible to have a child outside of a hospital but feels that that represents a whole other level of insanity. It amazes her that people would what to go through the trauma without analgesia let alone do it where away from the resources that you need to aid you if things go wrong. Maybe the proponents of natural child birth she a different world to the one she walks in, maybe they don’t realise just how tenuous the line between life and death really is. All she knows is that it used to be natural to die of cholera because people didn’t understand basic hygiene and that she sure as hell washes her hands after she’s been to the lavatory.

She knocks on the door with trepidation, if her usual discomfort at going to visit new parents in hospital could be charted her discomfort at going to see this particular set of new parents would be off the scale. Even though Charles is closer to the door and should be in her direct line of version the only thing that she can see is Scribbs. Scribbs appears to be asleep, she looks weak and pale and her lips are almost blue. There is a tube attached to a bag that appears to be dropping blood into her arm and wires attach her to many flashing and beeping machines. Ash is quite frankly terrified. 

When Charles does register in her field of view he is grinning like a Cheshire Cat. He gives her a one armed hug and pulls her close to him. “How is it that you don’t have a cigar?” he asks.

“I didn’t know that people did that anymore and I thought it was traditionally the proud father who handed them out.”

“Oh I have no interest in them but Dad has been handing them out to any stranger that passes by I’m surprised he missed you.”

“Where is he anyway?”

“Outside somewhere. He got himself banned from the room for attempting to smoke in here.”

Her father is not always the best decision maker in the family, “I don’t suppose he managed to feel bad about it.”

“I doubt it, he left mumbling about the fact that a man should be allowed to celebrate the arrival of his grandchild in the proper manner.”

“So is mother keeping him company?”

“Good lord no. She did an obligatory five second visit and is now off to brag about the fact that the arrival of her grandchild represents some sort of triumph over adversity.”

“She will of course do this in the most polite and tactful manner possible,” she finds herself relaxing. Judging her mother’s behaviour is something that clearly makes her feel comfortable.

“I imagine she will be the model of tight lipped discretion. No doubt she will let others pry the details out of her in a manner that garners the upmost sympathy.” Charles replies.

Scribbs stirs in the bed and Ash’s thoughts are drawn back to the seriousness of the situation. “Is she ok?” she whispers.

“ _She_ is just fine,” comes the reply from the bed.

“I’m sorry, I thought you were sleeping.”

“I was biding my time waiting to see when you would show me the attention that I deserve. You took far too long by the way and you shouldn’t be wasting your time talking to him,” she points an accusing finger at Charles, “he didn’t have to do anything in this except have a good time and deposit a bit of DNA.”

“Do you want me to frogmarch him from the room?”

“Would that you could,” Charles interrupts, “I could murder a proper coffee but she has been refusing to let me leave.”

“Oh fine, you’re dismissed,” Scribbs waves a nonchalant hand.

“Your wish is my command madam,” Charles bows deeply with a small smirk on his face that fails to reach his eyes.

If Scribbs notices that measure of discomfort from Charles she recovers quickly, “You know you haven’t even had the decency to ask me how I am yet.”

“It seemed rather self-explanatory,” she gestures her hands at the various machines and tubes. 

“Oh that. That’s just window dressing. I feel really, really good.” Ash wants to doubt her but Scribbs somehow looks serenely happy and her eyes are shining with the excitement of a child on Christmas morning. She wonders if they are dripping narcotics into her as well as blood.

“I guess you are going to start preaching to me on how I need to have one of my own immediately.” She spoke in jest but it seems to give Scribbs pause and if it’s actually possible her former partner seems more pail than she did a second ago. “Cause I can tell you that that is not going to happen.”

“Of course not. You have rules about that sort of thing. You would have to meet someone, decide that you could tolerate him, and do a thorough background check of him and both sides of his family extending back to the fourteen hundreds or so. These things take time.”

“Absolutely.”

“I also know that you have rather unfavourable thoughts about visiting babies.”

“I don’t visit babies,” she corrects, “I can’t carry out a conversation with the infant, it has the IQ of a turnip. I visit the parents.” She feels it wise to delete that said parents clearly have an IQ only marginally higher than that of the infant.

“I’m so sorry. I could have phrased that better but would I be right in saying that you really don’t like the bit where you are made to look at the baby?”

“The baby doesn’t know I’m there.”

“I’m not really sure that’s the point of the exercise.”

“And that’s where you lose me. It’s not like years from now one of these children are going to be writing their memories and say ‘Ah yes the great Kate Ashurst I vividly remember my first meeting with her, as I recall she briefly held me in her arms while I urinated on myself’.”

“Fine so you solely do it to make the parents happy.”

“And really that should have been covered by the fact that I showed up.”

“So are you at least going to look at _my_ baby?”

Scribbs should know that looking at her baby is far worse than having to fawn over any over infant on the planet. She can’t imagine that it’s possible thatt Scribbs doesn’t know that but then Scribbs’ mind is probably addled from the blood loss and possibly drugs. A perfectly well rounded and she hopes sensitive speech about why she can’t look at the child formulates in her mind just as her lips betray her by simply uttering, “Yes.”

Scribbs’ answering smile could power a town. She watches as, with difficulty and apparently with no concern for her own health, Scribbs pulls herself to the far side of the bed and pulls a squirming object out of the plastic manger on wheels. Scribbs settles back against the pillows with the child on her chest. “I know that she’s not much to look at but to me she is the most beautiful thing in the world,” she straightens her arms and offers the bundle to Ash.

She looks down at the small creature that she suddenly finds herself holding. The face is blotching, the nose is squashed to one side and there is a large egg shaped growth on its head. It strongly resembles some form of alien mutant and God help her she can’t help but find the baby beautiful. She spends a long time staring down at the miniature person and then suddenly it trembles in her arms and begins to make horrendous noises.

“She needs to be fed,” Scribbs states matter-of-factly and pulls the child back towards her.

“I should go.”

“There’s no need. It’s not like you have seen my breasts before although I have to say that you’ve never seen me this well endowed.”

“You make it sound like you’ve been checking yourself out.”

“You make it sound like that would be a strange thing to do. You really should stay, they are rather spectacular.”

She should tell Scribbs that it will kill her to stay. She should tell Scribbs that she can’t keep doing this. She should tell Scribbs that she has a child now and that this flirting really has to end. Instead she tells Scribbs that she will stay but that she will under no circumstances be looking. Scribbs flashes her a look to suggest that she really should peek and so she closes her eyes and waits for the nightmare to end. It is over sooner than she would have imagined and she has never been so grateful to see her brother in her life. 

When the baby has done with Scribbs both it and its mother fall asleep. She congratulates Charles again and hopes that he’s not aware that her words lack warmth. She drives home on autopilot refusing to let her brain register that what she has seen in that room amounts to a family. She pushes open her door to find an envelope inside. It has no postmark nor is there anything written on it, she opens it to reveal a photo of her with her eyes scratched out. On some level she must be aware of what this means but right now the only thing she can do is look at the photo with contempt and think ‘where the hell were you when I needed you?’


	6. Chapter 6

There are things that she took for granted as being ubiquitous parts of one’s working environment that do not seem welcome in her new job. Whether she likes it or not she is definitely not in Middleford any more and her new squad room has its own personality and its own rules. Colour and natural light appear to be prohibited here. In fact sometimes she feels like there is an embargo on light all together. Order is not highly prioritised either. She fights against it but her squad manage to do all they can to create chaos and anything that Tony touches manages to hurtle towards a state of entropy. Despite this she has come to accept her new realm. This is her home now even if at times she feels as alien in it as the order she tries to preserve.

It may not be her world but she has come to understand it and in its own way it makes sense. There are things from the world of suburbia that simply do not belong in Bradford and one of them is standing in the middle of the squad room glaring at her.

She does briefly wonder is she could feign ignorance and slip out the back door but Scribbs has locked onto her with the tenacity and accuracy of a heat seeking missile. 

The anger radiating from Scribbs could power the neglected light blubs but when she comes to a halt in front of Ash’s desk her voice is soft, “Hi. I was in the area and I thought I’d pop in.”

She quickly picks up her part in the charade and doesn’t challenge Scribbs on her lie. Instead she calmly introduces her to those in the room as if having your clearly pissed off and baby laden ex-partner show up out of the blue is the most natural thing in the word. When the pleasantries are dealt with she ushers Scribbs into her office. She laments that the walls are paper thin and has the fleeting thought that an interview room might be more suitable for their purpose but she knows that everyone in the building would be tempted to watch through the one way mirror. 

“So I hear you were in the neighbourhood,” she smirks despite the danger of the act.

“Well maybe if I had have been I would have known about things long before instead of having to hear about it at a birthday party from a constable who doesn’t even know you.”

“What on Earth are you talking about?”

Scribbs has managed to settle herself in the chair but the screaming child she is carrying looks less than comfortable. “Someone is stalking you.”

“It’s not the first time,” she watches the colour drain from Scribbs’ face, “I happen to be very appealing.”

“Are you even taking this seriously?”

“Of course,” she replies. “No-one in Bradford, including you, would even know about it if I wasn’t.”

“Least of all,” Scribbs mutters.

“What?”

“You said including me but you meant least of all.”

“Yes, I guess I did.”

“Why would you keep this from me?”

“Scribbs…”

“Don’t you dare use that patronising tone with me.”

“I wasn’t.”

“I’m not your junior officer anymore, you don’t get to make the decisions.”

“But I do get to make decisions about my personal life.”

“This isn’t personal,” Scribbs corrects.

“How do you know that? I have pissed a lot of men off in my time.”

Scribbs seems to cool in response to her statement. “That’s true she says,” a ghost of a smile gracing her lips. “You’ve also dated a whole bunch of psychopaths.”

“Hey none of my exs have tried to suck my brain of with a straw.”

“Are you ever going to let that go?”

“Probably not,” she confesses.

“Seriously Ash this is not some guy who couldn’t handle the fact that you wore the pants in the relationship.”

She wants to say something appropriately cutting or a least witty but Scribbs has mentioned ‘pants’ and ‘relationship’ in the same sentence and she finds herself fantasying about settling down in a very erotic way with the blonde, “It’s not the most likely explanation.”

“We worked a lot of cases together. I could help you know. I can’t see why you would keep this from me.”

“I don’t know, I guess I had some mad thought that you might rush up here half-cocked.”

“And see it couldn’t be further from the truth,” Scribbs says as she adjusts the infant again.

“So it would seem.”

“Ash I don’t like this.”

“I know,” she replies softly.

“I can’t stand the thought of anything happening to you.”

She swallows the lump that Scribbs’ words produce, “I know that too.”

“What are we going to do?” Scribbs looks desperate and all she wants to do is hold her.

“I really don’t know,” and truer words have never been spoken. She means it on so many levels. She doesn’t know where to go with the investigation, any lead that looked remotely promising has long since dried up. She doesn’t know whether she should even bother to investigate, the pictures have been coming for months now and nothing bad has happened to her. She really doesn’t know what to do about the fact that Scribbs is sitting across from her holding her bother’s child in her arms and all she can think about is how much she wants to rip her clothes off.

Scribbs reaches out and grabs her hand, “I’m staying tonight.”

“There’s no point.”

“There’s some crazy arsehole out there who is out to get you. I am not leaving you alone.”

“That makes absolutely no sense. A. I managed to stay safe thus far. B. You staying for one night is not going to solve anything. C. If I’m really in that much danger than that is the last place that you are Katie should be.” As if I cue the blanket wrapped creature punches a tiny fist into the air.

“I don’t like it when you make lists at me,” Scribbs grumbles but her shining eyes suggest otherwise.

“I know why you came and I’m touched but it really is better if you go home.”

“But I want to be here,” they are both acutely aware of the double meaning in those words.

“All the more reason you should go.”

Scribbs seems to concede the point, “Can we at least go to lunch. After all I’ve driven a long way and I’m starving.”

“Did you even think to bring food?”

“I brought bottles and formula for Katie,” Scribbs says defiantly. “I even brought nappies.” When she thinks about it by Scribbs' standards that is an incredible amount of forward planning.

“I guess I can spare you a few hours.”

“It would look bad if you didn’t.”

“Well we couldn’t have that.”

She grabs her things and heads to the door but before she can open it Scribbs catches her arm. “I’m glad we’re going to lunch,” she whispers. “I really can’t kiss you goodbye the way I want to if we are here.”

She takes a steadying breath and this time manages to get the door open. She can’t understand why everyone in her life is up in arms about the danger that she’s in from some unknown assailant when clearly Emma Scribbins is going to be the death of her.


	7. Chapter 7

Her memory may well be distorted but it seems to her that when she watched murder mysteries as a child there was inevitably a scene where everyone was gathered together in a drawing room so that the identity of the killer could be revealed. The would-be detective of the piece, whether employed in that profession or not, would have weaved ridiculously small and obscure morsels of information together to solve the crime and everything always wrapped up neatly and cleanly. It worries her that perhaps she has based her life and her career on films that she watched on rainy Saturday afternoons. There is worse source material to have influenced her but she feels that it has lead her to have an unrealistic expectation of the manner and ease with which crimes can be solved.

The current situation may not even involve a murder, although that certainly can’t be excluded, but there is an air of exception in the drawing room that she is going to transform into Miss Marple and solve the mystery. She doesn’t hold the solution though and so she has nothing but disappointment to offer to those assembled.

Most of the group are sitting in strained silence. The only moving bodies are her father, at the sideboard liberally pouring several glasses from the whiskey decanter and Katie who is lying on her blanket and kicking her legs in the air. She watches as her niece changes her limb experiments to involve her arms and seems to be attempting to fit her entire fist into her mouth and can’t help but be jealous of how simple life is for Katie. 

Her father places the tray of glasses on the coffee table and takes a large swig of his before claiming a seat. Everyone is looking at her and she has no idea what she can do to diffuse the situation but she does feel that she has to end the silence, “I’m not really sure what to say. I’m sorry doesn’t seem like it’s enough.”

To be honest she is a little resentful of having to feel sorry at all. It’s not like she deliberately caused the problem but she can’t help but think that if you find yourself in a situation that seems to have put your family in danger you have no choice but to take some responsibility. She could have spent much more time contemplating what it is within her nature that makes her apologise for something that is not her fault but her words seem to rupture the taciturn spell that the room had been under. 

“I can’t believe this is happening to us,” her mother says in a tone that is a pearl clutch away from being completely melodramatic. “What on earth would people think if they knew?” That would be he mother in a nutshell, that they could all be serious peril means very little when compared with the possible public relations disaster. The inherent danger of receiving death threats is apparently far less problematic than the fact that it simply not the done thing. She had not expected a warm maternal embrace, she is relatively certain that Winifred Ashurst makes all of her decisions based on what is seen as proper including the fact that she had children, but it would be nice to feel that she had a modicum of support from her mother.

“This isn’t totally Kate’s fault,” he father leaps to her defence in a decidedly half-hearted fashion. Et tu Daddy. 

“I never expected any of you to find out let alone be threatened. As I said I’m sorry.”

“At least we have the decency to let you know when we are being threatened,” Scribbs replies. It would seem that Ash has yet to be forgiven for keeping her in the dark.

“Let’s not fight amongst ourselves,” Charles chimes in on the action and she could live without her brother attempting to be the voice of reason. She may just be being cynical but he seems to relishing her fall from grace. Thankfully the next thing that comes out of his mouth is at least foolish, “We need to do something to resolve the situation.”

She isn’t quite juvenile enough point out to him that she doubts that the Ashurst clan are going to be able to bring more to the table than the newly assigned task force but she does feel a small inner glow of superiority. “There’s not really lot that we can do except cooperate with the investigation and report anything suspicious that happens.” She worries that that may open a can of worms that the police do not have time to deal with – her mother is likely to be reporting that the curtains seemed to have moved a millimetre since she was last in the room. She makes a mental note to try and remove any rulers or measuring tapes that she can find in the house.

“I don’t want any of you leaving the house until it’s all over.”

She is saved from having to point out the error of her father’s ways by her mother’s vehement protest, “James you will make as into one large target.”

“Your right, we should divide and conquer. At the very least it will keep him off his game,” he nods sagely as if he hadn’t just suggested the opposite action. The group seem to pick up the flow of the conversation and start strategising as though they have experience in the area. Ash isn’t perturbed, while they are busy synchronising their watches and coming up with ridiculous code words they are content to let her disappear into the background. She is happy to become wallpaper rather than speak and have that remind them that they wouldn’t have been receiving threats if not for her.

The only person failing to ignore her is Scribbs who looks at her with raised eyebrows as if daring her to find a more legitimate course for them all to take. She simply shrugs her shoulders in response and Scribbs looks at her with such disappointment that right now she would welcome the appearance of the stalker and the offer to end her life and free her from pain.

The crack team that is her family do reach a consensus that it is impractical for them not to return to their normal lives. Unfortunately she is not able to talk her way out of spending the remains of the weekend with them. She goes through the motions of being a good daughter. The type of daughter who used her expensive education to chose a more dignified career, the type of daughter who did not bring violence to her family’s doorstep. When it is time to retire she is unconscious almost before her head hits the pillow - being the perfect daughter, if only for an evening, is incredibly draining. 

She stirs in the middle of the night. Even with her earplugs and eye mask in place she can sense that there is another person in the room. Her hand creeps slowly down the side of the bed and grasps the large torch that she keeps there to ward off assailants. Giving someone a concussion would still cause paperwork but it’s a whole lot less than if she chose to use something more deadly and she has always believed her weapon of choice would give her the element of surprise and time to escape. Ash has never felt unsafe before, she has always been certain that her training and common sense would not fail her but right now she feels terrified. The torch is strangely heavy in her hand and she doesn’t seem to be able to grip it properly. This is not the way that she wanted to die. She wonders if they have come for her first or if there is a trail of bodies leading to her and then she realises that it doesn’t matter as she will not be alive to find out.

She swallows and braces herself to meet an untimely and grisly death but instead finds her trembling hand covered by soft fingers while similar digits gently push off her eye mask. She sits frozen as Scribbs crawls into bed next to her and has that presence of mind to note that Scribbs has wormed her way into the small space on _her_ side of the bed. The blonde gestures at her to remove the earplugs but she seems to have lost all motor control and muscle memory and is unable to complete the task. Scribbs removes them for her in a less than delicate procedure that she would complain about if she could just remember how to speak.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I’m not scared,” her vocal cords still work but they don’t seem to be able to make strong words.

“No of course not.”

“I am completely fine.”

“Yes I can tell by the rigid body and the ‘completely fine’ expression on your face.”

“What are you doing here anyway?”

“I came to apologise for not being as supportive as I could have been tonight.”

“Oh well I guess that’s ok then.”

“Seriously, I wasn’t sure what to do. I am frightened that people might start to wonder if I am always on your side.”

“There is nothing for them to wonder about though is there?” She hates that she can be such a petty, petty woman at times.

“Maybe not,” Scribbs looks a little hurt, “but I also didn’t want them to know that I knew about the threats beforehand.”

“Woe betide you have to take any share of the blame.”

“Hey that’s not fair. You were the one being stalked it really wasn’t my place to say anything.”

“And now suddenly everybody has a say,” she grumbles.

“In fairness it’s not every day that they get threatening letters.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

“You’re right,” Scribbs grins, “I imagine your mother receives them on a regular basis.”

“Yes but those come on lovely bits of card and are done in copperplate writing.”

“And are no doubt hand delivered by footmen.”

“No doubt.” Her body seems to have returned some control to her cortex and she is able to lie back down on the bed. She notices that Scribbs uses the opportunity to move closer to her, “Scribbs?”

“Mmmmmmm,” Scribbs’ murmur come from lips that are closer to Ash’s neck than they have any right to be.

“If I didn’t know any better I would think that you were talking advance of a delicate situation in order to get into my bed.”

“It’s a good thing that you know better then isn’t it?”

She tries to ignore the fact that Scribbs smells clean and fresh and inviting. It had been easier not to find her alluring earlier in the evening when she had smelt like baby vomit. “Why is it that I always seem to be telling you that you need to go?”

“I honestly have no idea. Maybe your big DI brain is a little broken.”

“You really do need to go.”

“You’re no fun,” she can see Scribbs pouting and against all things reasonable she finds herself kissing the protruding lips. Scribbs matches her kiss and then adds tongue play. 

She pulls away and rests her forehead on Scribbs’, “You have to go or things will get messy.”

“Only if we do it right,” Scribbs replies suggestively as she snakes her hand between Ash’s thighs.

She breaks the embrace and rolls to the opposite side of the bed. “Scribbs, go now.”

“I’m not your dog.”

“No you’re my sister-in-law.”

Even Scribbs finds those words sobering and manages to pull herself from the bed. “I really hate leaving you.”

“And I really hate being left.”

Scribbs looks at her with understanding and I trace of pity and whispers, “I love you,” before exiting the room.

She knows that there will be no more sleep tonight which is probably a good thing as she doesn’t need a haze of hormone fuelled images of Scribbs to be haunting her tomorrow. She already has enough to worry about. She has to find a stalker, she has to be concerned for the safety of her nearest and dearest and she has to worry about what will happen when she is no longer strong enough to say no to Scribbs. Her family may feel that a madman has rocked the foundations of their world but that is but a minor tremor compared with the earthquake that she could cause and it terrifies her just how much she wants to let go and let the earthquake do it’s damage


End file.
